


Idiot Punk

by cynicaldesire



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, recognizes his abuse and recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicaldesire/pseuds/cynicaldesire
Summary: The Thieves are left without their Queen and her Skull while they deliver Kaneshiro's Calling Card. Their excursion allows the two to learn a bit about each other. Makoto wishes it to be the beginning of her journey into friendship. Ryuji finds himself feeling differently.Makoto will not be deterred. She has to work with these people, these Phantom Thieves. She committed herself to their cause. All she has to do is figure out how to be a friend.





	1. Chapter 1

Ryuji stepped out into the Shibuya Station Square and looked around. Miss Student Council President had asked for him directly, and only him, but he had forgotten the calling cards at home. The square bustled with strangers and tourists, a dark-haired, heavy-set foreigner woman dodged past him with an apologetic smile on the arm of a redheaded dude. Maybe he should dye his hair red next.

“Sakamoto-kun!” Makoto startled him as she called from the small sitting area off to the side.

Ryuji smirked and jogged over to her. “No need for all that, Makoto. We’re part of the Phantom Thieves now, we got a special bond. Just Ryuji is fine.”

“Not so loud!” A smirk edged one corner of her lips up, mirth playing in her eyes, despite the harsh words.

Ryuji grinned a little brighter. She motioned toward Central Street and began to lead him toward their target.

“Yusuke-k-. Ahem. Yusuke provided me with his sketch of the vehicle’s license plate that kidnapped me. My plan is to place a calling card in or on that vehicle and at various places around the area.” She spoke over her shoulder, professional and focused on her duty.

Ryuji followed after her, dodging past a few oblivious or downright rude strangers as he listened. “Okay, sounds good. Why just the two of us, though?”

She paused at the Shibuya Crossing. She adjusted her grip on her bag. “I believe you more capable of taking care of yourself than the others. And Akira-san has his probation to worry about.”

Ryuji’s brow lifted. She believed in him. Makoto Niijima, the Student Council President, his senpai, a better strategist and thinker than even Akira, whose Persona came in the form of a sick motorcycle, believed in him, a dumb punk good at track. Well, before Kamoshida screwed things up for him, anyway.

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, unable to look at his senpai’s shoulder. “Aw, shucks, senpai.”

“Though, I will need you to remove your clothes.”

The crossing lights changed and forced the Shujin students into a throng of people moving across the street. Ryuji attempted to keep up while her words sank in, rattled around, and sent blood to all the inappropriate places.

He hadn’t really pegged her as that type, especially with everything happening with Kaneshiro, and especially in their current situation. But he couldn’t deny his attraction to her, beautiful and smart and badass and amazing. Sure, he preferred a little more meat on his girls, but Makoto didn’t leave him wanting.

She looked back to check on him once they had crossed the street and headed for Kaneshiro’s domain. She reached a hand out toward him to rescue him from the herd of people headed to other areas. He swallowed, realizing suddenly the difference in their heights.

“Sakamoto-kun, is something the matter?” Her brow furrowed.

Still the honorifics. Maybe they didn’t have a special bond. And besides, she didn’t know? She really gonna make him say? He looked around and leaned down to whisper to her. “Senpai, you really need me to get naked?”

Her whole body grew a few centimeters, shoulders and back stiffened, as a redness crept onto her cheeks. “No! Where did you get such a ridiculous notion?”

Now he’s the pervert, offending the pure Student Council President. Just another idiot punk. She believed he could take care of himself, because she’d probably bail at the first sign of trouble. And if nothing else, she could just say he coerced her, who’d believe him anyway?

Anger wells within him, the rage of his abusive father, and muted it as best he could. “Sorry, Niijima-senpai.” He spat the words at her as he returns to his normal slouched stance; knees apart, eyes focused somewhere else, hands in his pockets. A small kick at the ground helped to relieve a small portion of his frustration. “What did you want me to do?” 

He felt her eyes on him, felt something from her that he couldn’t make sense of. Must be some kind of side effect of the Metaverse? They have Personas and can change people’s hearts, what if they have a kind of radar for people’s emotions as well?

Makoto turned her head slightly and tapped at her bag. “I have a regulation school uniform in my bag. I rented it from a shop nearby. We’ll need it to make you look like a regular Shujin academy student. The more you blend in to the patrons here, the easier it will be. It is rather unfortunate about your hair, not easily hidden.”

So that’s why she wanted his clothes. His eyes fell. “Yeah, sorry about that. Where do you want me to change?”

She gestured to a nearby diner. “Head in there and use their restroom. I will order us some tea while you change.”

He nodded silently. They enter and find a booth. A green tea for her and coffee for him. Obviously finding the pairing odd, the waitress gave them an odd look. A punk and a dignified girl at the same table together? Something seemed awry.

The frustration welled again, echoes of his father reminded him how much of a worthless punk he is. _Idiot punk_. He knew what he looked like, what his actions make people think of him. He tried so hard, but there’s not a damn thing he can do. Just a punk kid with bad posture, bad grades, and bad hair.

Their beverages ordered, he ruffled his blonde hair, grabbed the bag from Makoto, and headed toward the restroom. She whisper-yelled something to him as he stalked off, but he’s already gone. He had to get away, lest the shithead take over.

The uniform has everything, even the regulation shoes. She must’ve noticed his size in their interactions. But the shirt felt tight and he had no regulation shirt of his own, so he kept it on. The pants are a bit loose, so he wears his own, a little too short but the right waist size, and uses the regulation belt instead of his suspenders. He stuffed all of his personal clothes into the bag and headed out of the bathroom.

He returned to a steaming cup of black coffee.

Makoto glanced to him, staring at a map or something. “The waitress will return with cream in a moment. She had her hands fu-“ Her eyes widened at him.

The sudden drop in her sentence startled him. He leaned forward. “Senpai? You okay?” Probably just shocked to see him in the regulation uniform, something completely out of character for him.

A blush graced her cheeks, pinker this time, her eyes dropped abruptly to a map of Central Street. “Apologies, Sakamoto-kun. I’m fine. We should go over the plan.”

Odd. She fidgeted a bit, something he isn’t sure he’s ever seen her do. Whatever. “Yeah, ‘course.”

He felt something else emanating from her that he couldn’t quite place. He should ask Morgana about it later. He grabbed a few sugar packets from the table and started to shake them.

She glanced at the movement instinctively. “I thought it might be better for us to split up to cover more ground quickly. I’ll leave the car to you while I begin posting the Calling Card here.” She pointed to a building on the map before turning it around under her finger to show Ryuji.

The blonde looked over the map, ripping open the sugars to pour them into his coffee. “Is that where the car is?”

Makoto’s brow furrowed and she tilted her head. “The car should be somewhere around here.” She gently circled her finger at another location somewhere clear across the map. “It picked me up at the Protein Lovers Gym before, which is also where Akira-san and I were approached to be part of the operation. So I can only assume the vehicle should be around there.”

Ryuji tilted his head at the map as well. He looked to where she pointed earlier and to the probable location of the car. With the danger inherent in their activity, the idea of leaving Makoto alone unsettled him. Deeply. He picked up his spoon and to stir the sugar dumped into his coffee.

“We should probably stick closer together on this, senpai. Especially since we don’t know where the car is.” He finished stirring and lifted to spoon out to plunge it into his mouth. Still hot, he growled a bit as it almost burned his tongue.

The response is immediate. Ryuji felt another shift in mood, a darker shift. She withdrew her finger from the map to glare at it. The spoon rested on the table while he waited for his cream.

“I can take care of myself, Sakamoto-kun.” Her voice is quiet, almost threatening.

But he understood. Her Persona came to her, born out of a frustration and a disbelief in everyone calling her useless. “I know, senpai, I’m not saying you can’t.”

Her eyes stayed on the table. “Then why are you disagreeing with me?”

A slow breath for him. He had so many of these arguments with his father, started out innocently enough, though they typically ended with his mother caring for him in the bathroom. “I’m not disagreeing with you, I just… I’d feel better if I knew I could help you if something happens.”

Her eyes closed, shoulders lifted. “I’m not useless, Ryuji! I don’t need your help!”

Ryuji recognized the anger, the frustration. He’s felt them plenty of times himself, dealing with shitty adults telling him how he won’t amount to anything or he’s a no-good punk.

He leaned forward, eyes on his coffee, elbows on the table, and rested his head on his hand. “Guess even Student Council Presidents feel insecure just like us punks.”

Her head lifted with a small noise, the feeling at the table shifting again. Movement caught his eye, Makoto tucking a bit of hair behind her ear, finger-combing the bit behind a braided headband. He never really noticed the braided headband that held her hair back before, a beautiful and subtle crown. That prevented the need for her to tuck hair behind her ear. He felt a smile tug at half his lips.

He gestured with his free hand. “It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, senpai- I’ve seen just how badass you are as Queen and all – It’d just make me feel better for both of us to keep eyes on each other. I don’t want you to get kidnapped again. Because last time we were right on your tail, but if it happens when it’s just the two of us and I don’t know what’s happened… Somethin’ worse could happen to you. I don’t know if I could live with that.”

A small smile curled her lips. Her arms appeared from under the table to wrap around her tea. “I see. Thank you, Sakamoto-kun. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

The warmth in her voice caught him off guard. He sat up and looked to his steaming coffee. “S’ok. Not anything I haven’t dealt with before.”

Another barely perceptible shift in her emotions.

“Sorry about the wait.” The waitress startled both of them, bringing another cup and a few small pitchers of cream. Ryuji smiled and thanked her as she hurried off to help other patrons.

“Doesn’t it anger you, Sakamoto-kun?” Her eyes hadn’t left her tea.

Ryuji poured a bit of cream into his coffee and got to stirring. “What?”

She turned the cup in her fingers. “That adults… underestimate you. They treat you no better than they treat Akira-san. And you don’t even have a criminal record.”

That had to be the shift. Ryuji shrugged. “It pisses me off plenty, senpai, which is why I’m still in the hole I’m in. But there ain’t nothing I can do to get out of it. ‘Cept being a Phantom Thief. Because at least I’ll know the good I can do and the… potential I got. So let other people think what they want, you know? I know me.”

The cup lifted to her lips. “You are not only good at being a Phantom Thief.”

Another kind statement. He rarely trusted those for too long. “You’re bein’ awful nice to me, senpai. I would still prefer you stick close by in case somethin’ bad-“

A gasp stole the rest of his protest. She shook her head. “No! I’m not trying to- I-…” Her lips pressed together, drawing Ryuji’s attention to the precisely painted, pink buds. Something tugged in his chest. “I remember the track team when you were on it, before Kamoshida destroyed it. You… You were by far the best on the team. They were only able to advance as far as they did because of you.”

Praise had been few and far between for him, especially regarding his performance on the track team. And coming from the Student Council President? She’s just buttering him up, for sure. “You know what? Fine. I’ll go take care of the Calling Card for this asshole’s car.” Might as well get started now. He reached for his wallet and thumbed through his yen for the cost of the coffee. “Then I’ll wallpaper this shitty district with it and head home. You don’t have to deal with me anymore than you have to.” He slammed the cost of the coffee down and grabbed the bag beside him.

It’s her bag, the one she brought the clothes in. He growled, recognizing the anger of his father, but he can’t quell it now. He knew they didn’t fit, that they make for an odd friendship. But that’s no reason to mock him, to pretend to like him. Just get the work done and go home and return the uniform to her tomorrow.

Makoto’s brow lowered as she glared up at him. Another shift in mood. The hell does he care? “Gimme my bag, senpai.”

“Why are you upset, Sakamoto-kun?” Defiant.

He clicked his cheeks. “It’s got the Calling Cards in it. I can’t do what you want me to do without it.” He gestured for it. “So givit here and let’s get this over with.”

She sighed and grabbed his arm. He barely registered the action before she pulled him into the seat beside her. “Firstly, you haven’t heard the entirety of my plan. Secondly, I was being honest with you before, your skills on the track team are impressive. And-“

He waited impatiently for the “Thirdly”, but she hesitated. He rolled his eyes. “Does it really matter?”

She shifted slightly beside him, giving them both more space in the booth. “Of course it does. You have just as much to offer as I do, Sakamoto-kun.”

He shook his head. “You tryin’ to flatter me has nothing to do with the plan. What more is there to the plan besides delivering the Card and papering the rest? You got your half, I’ll do mine until I run out, then we go home.”

She looked to the map of the area. “I suppose that is all to the plan, isn’t it.” She sounded almost disappointed.

“So gimme the cards and I’ll handle it.” The frustration boiled just below his tipping point, causing his good leg to bounce under the table, occasionally hitting the support and causing the mugs to shake a bit.

“I’ll need your clothing back before tomorrow. I need to return them to the uniform rental.” She sounded almost apologetic.

His eyes fell to the too-tight white polo with the Shujin crest. Her arms remained still wrapped around his. The clinking of the mugs stopped. “So you want me to get it done quick, use those track skills. I got it.”

Brown hair swayed at his upper arm, the difference in their height and the short length of his sleeve just enough that her hair tickled. He’s a red-blooded teenager and Makoto is a shapely, amazing girl. As nerves started to fray, his leg bounced again.

“Ryuji-san, I-“

Blood rushed to his cheeks. He tried to avoid thinking of where else it rushed to.

She unraveled herself from his arm, her deep brown eyes, almost red, peeked up at him through her eyelashes. She lifted a hand to fingercomb her hair. The mood shifted again. “I-“ His brow lifts. “I, ah, I’m sorry I misjudged your size.”

His brow collapsed, eyes shifted from the blushing President to his tight polo. It sounded as if she planned to confess. He rubbed the back of his hair. “I think I’ll live. A little uncomfortably, but it’s okay.”

For her part, a smile tugged briefly at her lips. She glanced to him again. “Th-That’s part of why I want the uniform back. I do not wish to put you through too much discomfort.” He rolled his eyes slightly, disappointment crept through his body. The mugs started to clatter again. “I will accompany you on our mission, Ryuji-san.”

He blinked back to her. “Y-You will?”

She nodded. “It would certainly be foolish to attempt to confront them on my own. I want to believe I can handle myself, but… there is evidence to suggest I may not be able to. There is certainly strength in numbers. And… It might look more strange for us to be wandering around the area on our own. But if we travel together, we could just be a pair on a date.”

A grin crept onto Ryuji’s face. “What a first date, huh? Threatening a mafia boss so that we can steal his heart and save kids from blackmail?”

A melodic giggle greeted his left ear. He grinned to his companion. Another mood shift. “You’re impressive, Ryuji-san.”

His brow lifted. “Me?” Panic sorted through his previous statements. “’Cause I’m a huge dumbass?”

Hesitation stayed her voice. Her eyes fell to her tea. And he swore he saw a gentle pink on her cheeks. “You’re so earnest and dedicated. And manage to find humor in the darkest of situations.”

A blush found his ears. He lifted his eyes, hoping to distract himself. He hadn’t received compliments from someone outside of his mother for some time. “Oh, uh… Thanks.”

Makoto reached for her tea. “You didn’t touch your coffee, Ryuji-san.”

He blinked at it. He had forgotten. “I don’t like coffee anyway.”

She sipped her tea. “Then why order it?”

He shrugged. “Akira lives at a café with his guardian. The owner serves a lot of coffee. I keep thinkin’ I’ll like it, but it’s so bitter. Kinda tastes like… boiled beans.”

She giggled again. “That’s effectively what it is.” She returned her tea to the saucer and retrieved the map from the table. “We should probably get going though.”

Ryuji pulled out his wallet to dig through his yen. “How much was the tea, again?”

A soft hand cupped his. He almost jumped at the contact. “Sakamoto-kun, that’s quite all right. I can pay for myself.”

Ryuji remembered just how often someone outside of his mother touched him gently. Not even Ann touched him except to fight. But it was friendly. Part of him appreciated her aggressive nature, someone to remind him that not every physical contact had to be like his father. Her fights with him sometimes brought back memories, but he had gotten better at controlling the anxiety that came with them.

Makoto took her hand from his and started to fish around for the yen for her tea. He set his jaw. “I know you can, but I’m supposed to be your date, right? I can cover your tea, Queen.”

Before she could protest, he dropped another group of yen on the table. “Sakamoto-kun!” He moved to stand from the booth, ignoring her protest.

“Come on, Miss President, we got work to do.” He grabbed her bag, filled with his clothes, and waited for her to extricate herself from the booth.

Her lips pursed again, defiance in her eyes, but she grabbed his bag and slid from the booth. She leaned down to grab a few yen coins. “The cost of the tea was cheaper, Sakamoto-kun.”

He shoved the spare change in his pocket. At least she let him pay at all. Instinctively, he dropped a hand to the small of her back to lead her from the diner, nodding to the waitstaff on their way out.

A comfortable rhythm grew between them as they wandered through the streets looking for Kaneshiro’s car. Ryuji stole glances at Makoto, watching her intense gaze searching surreptitiously for their target. Smart, pretty, shapely, dedicated. She had so much going for her. No wonder they kept getting such curious looks. Maybe splitting up had been the better idea.

Bruises flashed on the wrist holding his bag to her shoulder. She had been effectively kidnapped and manhandled barely a week prior. The bruises had already healed to a similar yellow to her skintone, but Ryuji remembered. That had been his life for a while.

“How are you recovering, by the way?” The silence hadn’t been awkward, per se, but he felt a need to fill the it anyway.

The intensity in her face cracked. She looked up to him. When had he started to walk without the slouch? “Recovering?”

He motioned to her wrist. “You still have the ghost of bruises here. Figured you might have other ones, too. Are they doing okay?”

She offered him a smile that he immediately recognized, a smile he wore plenty of times while the bruises lay hidden under his long sleeves in July. Another mood shift. “They’re doing fine, Sakamoto-kun.”

But he knew the truth. He looked ahead, scanning the area again. “If you ever get hurt like that again, because of Shadows or somethin’, use some ice after a couple days to help it heal faster.”

She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind, Sakamoto-kun, thank you.” She already knew that, her acceptance meant to be a kindness. He knew that, but it sounded more like a placation. “Where did you learn something like that?”

If only he had spotted the car. “Personal experience.” He didn’t want the memories that came with the explanation.

She smiled slightly, her eyes still scanning as well. “You must’ve had a few mishaps during your training. But you learned how to take better care of yourself. That must be why you’ve gotten so muscular.”

Heat rushed to his cheeks. That sounded suspiciously like flirting. His dark memories melted back into the closet he kept them in. “Why, Miss President, I didn’t know you were looking.”

He caught a darker pink to her cheeks. “Th-The shirt, Sakamoto-kun! It’s just a bit too small, that’s all!”

Ryuji dropped his head to look at the shirt. The buttons at the neckline had been left open, but the opening pulled, stretched to its limit. He had felt a tad uncomfortable at the sleeves, the openings tight around his biceps. He had kept the shirt untucked, a simple freedom for not being in school, but the shirt held tight to the slight definition of his abdomen. He paid it little mind, figuring the offending clothing only covered him for a few hours while they handled the Calling Card.

It only demonstrated his point. He hadn’t seen all those details before she mentioned it. He smirked. Maybe she told the truth, maybe she honestly felt impressed by him. Maybe she honestly believed in him.

A good-for-nothing punk with a shitty past and anger issues. He pressed his lips together.

“Oh! There it is!” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him into an alcove that housed a staircase leading to the arcade. Whatever her intentions, he fumbled a bit on his feet and caught himself on the wall. He looked down to the Student Council President, caged by his body, her eyes focused more on the vehicle up the street than his reddening cheeks.

“It looks fairly well-guarded right now. Do you suppose the men surrounding it will wander away for any reason?” She leaned down to look past his arm.

Ryuji shook his head. “What?” He missed her words, only recognized the questioning tone.

Makoto looked back to him, straightened up, and furrowed her brow. The height difference made her seem smaller, easier to succumb to his will. “The Calling Card. I don’t want you getting caught either, Sakamoto-kun.” Her eyes widened. “Oh!” His heart stuttered; did she finally notice their position? She started to dig around in his bag on her shoulder. “The Calling Card! Where-“

Whatever moment Ryuji had, he had alone. As it passed, eaten by Makoto’s dedication to her duty, the blonde pulled away from the wall. He took a slow breath and gestured at her hands. “Here, cut it out. I got it.”

She pulled his bag forward to provide him easier access. What an idiot he had to be to think he had any kind of chance with her. After a bit of rummaging, he produced the specialty Calling Card for Kaneshiro. Makoto tilted her head in an effort to read it. He turned it around for her.

“Checking my work, Miss President?” He strove for playful, but felt a bit offended. Or he had yet to recover from feeling like an idiot for getting distracted at their intimate positioning.

She shook her head. “I told you what to say, but I never got the chance to see it.” She lifted a hand toward it. He shifted it slightly for her to take. Instead, she smiled up to him. “You did it perfectly, Sakamoto-kun. I just hope I could see the look on his face when he reads it.”

Ryuji forced a chuckle. Easier just to pretend it never happened. Because technically, it didn’t. “I’m more looking forward to kicking his ass in the Metaverse.”

Makoto narrowed her eyes, lifted a determined fist. “We'll give him everything he deserves.” She leaned around him again. “Ah, the car appears to be unguarded for now. You should get going, Sakamoto-kun.”

He spun around. Sure enough, there appeared to be no one surrounding the car. He turned back to her, nervous energy tapping his foot. “You stay right here, okay? If things go south, go into the arcade and wait for me.”

Makoto’s brow furrowed for a moment, defiance flashing in her eyes. It faded quickly into a soft smile. “Of course, Ryuji-san.” As he turned away, she grabbed his arm. “Wait.”

He turned back around, heat returning to his cheeks. A gallant knight off to perform a duty for his queen found himself rewarded with a kiss for good luck. Did she intend to give him one? He could only hope.

She tapped her bag. “It should be easier to move around without this. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

Disappointment slumped his shoulders. He removed the bag and handed it over. She nodded to him. “Good luck, Ryuji-san.”

He sighed gently and headed for the car. He did his best to appear as if he simply walked by while he glanced into the darkly tinted windows. It appeared empty, including behind the driver’s seat. Where to put the Card though? Under the windshield wipers, like some kind of advertisement? No, they’d just throw it away. It would have to be inside the car, somewhere they’d have to look at it.

He tried to driver’s door. It clicked open. Panic lifted his eyes to scan the area. None of the Yakuza-looking guys seemed to be around. He slipped into the driver’s seat and sat down.

Okay, now what? Glove box? In the window? He looked at the steering wheel, his hands instinctively curled around it. He grinned slowly. He could probably just steal it, that’d get their attention. Who cared if he didn’t know how to drive?

The cops would care. They’d arrest him and he couldn’t help much from a jail cell. It would probably also complicate the Phantom Thieves. And Makoto stood nearby waiting for him. If he did nothing else, he refused to let her down.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He slid his hands down the steering wheel. The cover felt very nice.

Steering wheel cover could probably hold the corners of the Card, it’d be right there in their face when they got into the car. He nodded and got to work. His phone buzzed again.

He found the card just slightly too small to fit comfortably. He shifted it off to the side, as far up as he could, and around the entire rim. A square peg in a round hole proved to be a lot harder than he anticipated. But he found a way.

He sat back to assess his work. Movement outside the car caught his attention. Someone approached the driver’s side door. His phone buzzed. It did little to distract him from the panic forcing pile into his throat.

“Excuse me, sir?” Makoto’s voice drifted muffled into the car.

Ryuji clenched his jaw; he told her to stay put.

“Hey there. Ain’t you a pretty girl. You go to Shujin Academy?” The thug lifted his glasses to get a better look at her. Ryuji gripped the steering wheel tightly, almost messing up his hard work. Though he did thank Captain Kidd that Kaneshiro hadn’t shared his blackmail photos with anyone else yet.

Makoto nodded. The blonde felt an roar of emotions from her, that weird Metaverse bleed effect. “I was hoping you could direct me to the Airsoft Shop? I can’t seem to find it anywhere.” To a stranger, she sounded normal. However, Skull could hear the cracks in his Queen’s façade.

The thug arched a brow. “The model gun store? What’s a sweet, little thing like you want with model guns?” He shifted slightly closer, drawing a growl from the blonde in the car.

Makoto simply giggled, fussing with her hair. “Thank you! My boyfriend has an affinity for them. I wanted to get him a present for his birthday, but I’m having a hard time locating it.”

Ryuji’s brow furrowed. Her boyfriend? Did she actually have one? He studied her back and noticed her hand gesturing. He focused on the movement. Oh, a distraction for him to get out of the car.

The thug smirked. “Well, isn’t your boyfriend a lucky guy. He sounds pretty dangerous, though. Maybe you should consider an alternative.” His hand went for Makoto’s shoulder.

Makoto’s giggle darkened a bit. She moved away slightly, out of the thug’s grasp, turning the thug away from the car. Ryuji looked through the window to her. She glanced in his direction and nodded her head.

“I’d prefer to see how he likes my present, first. If only I could find the shop.” She did a much better job than Ann.

Ryuji opened the car door. The noise startled the thug, forcing him to whip around. Ryuji crawled from the car, just below the windows. “The hell was that?”

Makoto panicked. Ryuji felt it. “W-What was what?” She dialed up the charm a bit too high.

Ryuji rolled into the street and closed the door with his foot. The thug rounded the car just as he rolled over again. “What the hell?”

Makoto followed close behind him. “Sa- Oh gosh, baby, are you hurt?”

The track star looked to her, confused. Baby? Hurt? Makoto’s eyes pleaded with him. He recognized that look. Play along and your father will leave.

Ryuji groaned. “Ah, shit. That hurt.” He rolled onto his back.

The thug stomped up to him. “The fuck are you doing to my car?”

Ryuji rolled his eyes. “No, no, it’s okay, I’m fine. Don’t help.” The blonde hopped up into a crouch and stood up slowly.

Makoto jogged over, anxiety obvious on her features. “My gosh, are you okay, sweetie?” Her hands touched him all over, checked his face, his arms, and boiled his blood.

A blush covered his cheeks to his ears. He looked to Makoto as she wrapped herself around his arm, pressed herself against his side. He could feel her breasts pressed against his elbow.

“This your boyfriend, sweet thing?” The thug appeared skeptical.

She giggled again. “Yeah. I guess I’ll just get him to show me to the airsoft shop. Sorry for bothering you, sir.”

She dragged Ryuji away immediately, giving the younger blonde no time to process the exchange. “Come on, sweetie, you were going to show me your favorite store.”

He lifted a hand to run through his hair as she led him away. The thug grumbled something behind him. Makoto remained glued to his arm, leading him further away toward the arcade. She paused at the arcade and pulled him inside the alcove again. She pressed him back against the wall this time, leaning out to watch the thug get into the car.

Ryuji swallowed hard. He couldn’t get the feeling of her breasts out of his mind. They were a lot softer than he had ever imagined. He had a primal desire to feel more of them, more of her, rise within him.

She straightened up and looked to him. “What the hell were you thinking, Ryuji!”

The desire drained into a smolder. He furrowed his brow, frustrated. _Idiot punk_ , that’s what she thought of him. “What the hell was I thinking? What the hell were you thinking! I told you to stay here! Something could’ve happened to you again!”

She growled. Despite her lack of height, he suddenly felt shorter than her. “You weren’t checking your phone, so I had to improvise. What would’ve happened if he had opened the car door and found you sitting there with a Calling Card? Why did you get in the car in the first place?”

He raised his hands, a feeble attempt to feel taller again. “I don’t know! I probably would’ve run. I’m pretty good at that, right? That’s why you brought me.”

Her brow furrowed, a mixture of anger and pain. “You are also out of practice! What happens if you tripped or, or, or couldn’t slip away fast enough? What if they got in the car to run you down? Then I’d be left alone-…” Her voice broke and she looked down, her hair falling in curtains to shroud her face.

Ryuji lifted his brow, anger cooled as soon as her voice broke. Another shift in mood. Concern lowered his shoulders. A story rested under that crack in her mask, one she had not shared with him yet. She cared just as much about watching him being taken as he did about something happening to her.

He rubbed his shoulder and rolled his neck. “Yeah, okay. I just… didn’t want them to think it was some kind of Hostess ad and throw it away, ya know? Thought I should put it in the car where they couldn’t miss it.”

Makoto’s shoulders lifted. A small sniffle drifted to his ears. His weight shifted, ready to step into her space to hug her, to provide the strength where she found weakness, as he had done for most of his life.

But she didn’t belong to him. They barely had a friendship.

Ryuji sighed slowly and dropped his hand onto her shoulder. “Hey, thanks for looking out for me, senpai. Without your quick thinking, who knows what would’ve happened to me?”

A lithe hand disappeared under the shroud of her hair. Probably to wipe her eyes. She lifted her head to him. “Thank you, Sakamoto-kun.”

What little comfort he provided, she seemed to strengthen. Or at least, to mask whatever feelings she had. He smiled down to her. “Of course, Makoto-senpai.”

She took a small step back and lifted her bag between them. She must’ve left them when she came to his rescue. He slid his hand off her shoulder to take it from her. “I suppose we should get to work with the Calling Cards, don’t you think?”

Ryuji’s smile brightened as he swung the bag of clothes over his shoulder. “Yeah. Let’s show these guys who they’re messing with!”

She giggled, genuinely this time, and grabbed for his bag. He felt a swell in her emotion, something positive, and laughed once. Both teenagers buzzed.

Ryuji retrieved his phone from his pocket first. Makoto fidgeted. “Mine is in my bag. Is it from the group chat?”

Ryuji nodded. Girls didn’t get pockets. “Yeah. They’re freaking out over the Calling Card and stuff. No biggie.”

She took his word for it, surprisingly, and assisted him with pulling the Calling Cards out of the bag, along with the tape and anything else they would need to put them up with. They required little verbal communication, both seeming to understand the needs and intent of the other in pulling items out. Their task complete, Ryuji took the bag from her and swung it over his other shoulder. Makoto narrowed her eyes at both bags sticking out from his back.

Brown eyes scanned for the street just outside the alcove. “Come on, we should probably get to the other side of the block to start puttin’ these up. That guy is probably lookin’ around for whoever put the Card in his car.” Ryuji made to leave the little alcove by the arcade.

Makoto grabbed the strap of her bag on his shoulder. He tensed. “Sakamoto-kun, do you truly intend to carry both our bags?”

He turned back around to her, confusion pulling at his features. _Idiot punk_. “Yeah? Somethin’ wrong with that?”

Makoto sighed and tugged her bag off his shoulder. He carefully transferred the contents of his both hands to one and allowed her to take it. “Firstly, you look ridiculous. Second, I’m capable to carrying my own bag.”

Ryuji’s eyes fell. He should have more faith in her. “Right. Sorry. Mom-“ He swallowed the explanation and shook his head. “Anyway, let’s get going.”

She swung her bag up onto her shoulder and led the way out of the alcove. They turned away from Kaneshiro’s car and walked as calmly as guilty teenagers could. Ryuji, one hand now free, lifted it to rub the back of his neck. Spending an afternoon with the Student Council President had never been halfway on his mind before. He always felt so inadequate next to anyone from the school, less so around the track team, but most often around someone like Makoto. She had so much going for her. But him? Not so much. As everyone reminded him frequently. He gripped the Cards in his hands.

They worked in relative silence for a bit, aside from the occasional buzz of their phones that they collectively ignored, sticking Calling Cards to any open walls without too many witnesses. No one seemed to notice a pair of Shujin kids taping things to buildings, even if one had blonde hair.

His mind wandered a few times in the semi-comfortable silence, mostly about innocent stuff like exams and the track team problem, but also about Makoto’s Persona, but frequently about the tight curves that held her to it. He also thought about the Metaverse bleed he felt from her, if it were a new thing, and if she felt anything from him.

Near the end of their stack of cards, Makoto stood by as Ryuji taped the last few up. She fidgeted in her spot, one arm crossed her body to hold the opposite elbow. “Sakamoto-kun?”

He hummed absently, distracted from wondering which game he’d play when he got home tonight.

“The track team is reforming without Kamoshida.” He felt her eyeing him through her lashes. More nervous than seductive, but he couldn’t stop the carnal images from slithering through his mind.

He already knew. “Yeah? That’s good.” He started to walk toward an empty spot on the wall. Why did she care?

She jogged a bit to catch up, that bleed effect feeding him conflicting information. “W-Well, I thought perhaps you would be interested in joining. Even with what happened with Kamoshida, your record speaks for itself.”

He turned and got to work. “Nah.”

Makoto stiffened, but held out the Cards for him. “No? Why not?”

He stared at the wall. How to explain? “Don’t wanna.”

She furrowed her brow, that danger and defiance dancing in her eyes. She leaned close, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think our Phantom Thief activities will get in the way of your meets?” She straightened up, voice normal. “I’m sure Akira will be accommodating.”

Ryuji glanced at her and kept moving. She couldn’t have the bleed effect that he had. “Why’s it so important to you what I do?” Maybe she expected having some outlet would help him.

Her shoulders lifted, both hands clasping her bag. “I-It’s not. I just… I’ve seen how happy you were in the track team photos and-“

Happy? She wanted to see him happy? Ryuji laughed and turned back to her, not sure what to do with this information. “You’ve been doing a lot of research into me, Miss President.”

A blush crept onto her cheeks. “It… It was for the investigation.”

Ryuji’s grin slipped a bit as he moved a bit further. She had probably been instructed to keep an eye on him as well, the biggest troublemaker at Shujin. He tore off a piece of tape and rubbed it a little too hard against the wall. _Idiot punk_.

“That appears to be all we had, Sakamoto-kun.” Makoto held a hand out to him.

“That’s it?” His brow furrowed at her hand. “What-“

She curled her fingers inward, beckoning to him. “The tape. I’ll put it back in your bag for you.”

He looked to the dispenser in his hand and shook his head. “Nah, I got it. Thanks, though.” He did his best not to sound too disappointed. He caught a glimpse of his outfit as he fiddled with his bag. “Oh yeah, I gotta change outta this monkey suit, right?”

Makoto chuckled. The bleed effect cleared up a bit. “’Monkey suit’? It’s just a school uniform. But yes. I would like to return it before school tomorrow.”

He nodded. No need to spend more money on a rental when you didn’t have to. “Sure. Let’s head back to the diner. It’s getting pretty late, too. Maybe we should just grab something to eat while we’re there before we head home. Finish off our ‘date’ with a nice meal.”

Makoto followed after him. The bleed effect muddled again. “Actually, I had hoped to head home and do a bit of studying before bed. We won’t have much time tomorrow.”

Ryuji shrugged. She probably didn’t want to spend more time with him than she needed to. “I’ll try to change quickly, then.”

She slowed down a bit. He turned to catch her in the corner of his eye. She clutched at her bag again, a redness to her cheeks that seemed out of place. “How are your grades doing, Sakamoto-kun?” She shook her head as if scolding herself for something.

Ryuji furrowed his brow for a moment. Panic set in. “Did Mona say somethin’!?”

Makoto’s eyes shot up to him. “Mona? No! I just… I worry about your grades.”

Ryuji’s brow lowered further. _Idiot punk_. “I’ll admit, they aren’t great, but they’re my problem.” He spun around and headed for the diner’s staircase.

Makoto followed after him. They swapped bags once led to a table and Ryuji escaped quickly to the restroom. He grumbled as he changed clothes, his choice of video game when he got home now conflicting with a sudden urge to study. Part of him didn’t want to let Makoto down, but he couldn’t kid anyone. He simply didn’t have the smarts to get good grades.

He did try, for a while, but he found himself at the bottom of the exam results list too often to care too much. That was why he threw himself into track. He could focus while he ran, just listening to music and the growing strain in his legs, the breathing he regulated. He had too much energy to sit and study.

And running usually got him out of the house when his Dad had a particularly bad day.

He stuffed the wadded up uniform back into her bag and reached for the doorknob. His hand closed just before the knob. She didn’t deserve his anger. He turned back around, crouched in the floor, and started to fold all the clothes neatly.

The table appeared busier than he had remembered. Makoto had ordered a plate of fries large enough to need at least two people. He flopped back down in the booth across from her. An orange soda caught his eye. His favorite. And fries didn’t hurt.

“Well, you’re being rather forward, Miss President. Ordering my drink for me, getting us something to eat.” Ryuji arched a brow across the table.

Makoto lifted her eyes from a manga he kept in his bag. “Oh!” She blushed and slammed the manga shut. “Apologies, Sakamoto-kun. I wasn’t sure when you’d be returning so I just…”

She didn’t hear him. He shrugged and grabbed a fry. “S’fine. I could use the carbs. How did you know my favorite flavor though?” She looked away. He nodded. “Lemme guess, it was for the investigation.”

Makoto’s lips pressed together. She fussed with her hair. “I merely observed it while following you all. I’m… sorry for going through your bag.”

He waved a hand dismissively. He had gotten used to it. “Whatever. S’not like I keep anything important in there.” He grabbed another fry. “Should I control myself on these fries, or…”

She looked to the golden potatoes. “No, it’s okay. I still have dinner at home.” He nodded and dug in to the plate between them. “That manga was surprisingly philosophical for someone like you, Ryuji-san.”

Ryuji arched a brow again. He couldn’t blame her for thinking him stupid. He swallowed most of the chewed potatoes. “Whatcha mean?” The words sounded muffled around the rest.

A smile formed on Makoto’s lips despite the disapproving glare she leveled in his direction. Presumably for talking with food in his mouth. “I’ve never really read manga, unless it was for school purposes. L-Like the training ones from lower grades, like for English and stuff.” He kept chewing. “So when you talk about manga in the Metaverse, I suppose I expected… a lot more violence and… sex.”

Ryuji swallowed the rest of his fries and chased them with a bit of orange soda. _Idiot punk_. “I keep those ones at home.”

Makoto’s entire face turned a dark red. Ryuji couldn’t contain the shrill laughter that escaped him at her embarrassment. Her shoulders raised and she scooted to the end of the booth. “W-We accomplished our task for the night, anyway. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” She turned to bolt.

Ryuji lunged forward to grab her wrist. “Aw, man! I’m sorry, Queen! Don’t go!”

Her hand drew into a tight fist. “I will remind you, Sakamoto-kun, that I am trained in Aikido.” She tossed the dark threat over her tight shoulders.

Her tone killed his laughter. He swallowed again and tugged on her arm. “Hey, senpai, sorry. I just meant a little fun. I didn’t mean to… hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. Her reddish-brown eyes peeked at him over her shoulder. He offered her an apologetic smile. She turned back toward him and nodded. He released her wrist and gestured to the seat across from him. She smoothed her skirt down and slid back into it.

The blonde took one fry. She stayed. He looked to the closed manga. “Which one did you get out, anyway?” He plunged the fry into his mouth.

Makoto furrowed her brow at the manga. “It was about… a man fighting all manner of demons to protect himself and someone he loves? He had an enormous sword.”

He swallowed and grinned. “Aw, man, that one’s my favorite. Did you like it?”

Red-brown eyes lifted to him, confusion etched in her brow. “I… suppose. From what I read, the man has a moral dilemma. The object of his affection is mindless and he struggles to save her, but he is confronted with the idea that perhaps she wants to remain broken.”

The blonde nodded absently and took a sip of his soda. She had no idea. “Yeah. That’s tough.”

Brown locks swayed as she shook her head. “Why would she want to remain broken, though? What was she like before? What… happened to her?”

A smirk played on his lips. He leaned forward a bit and tapped the manga a few times. “You picked up the wrong volume, Miss President. That manga has been goin’ on since the 80s.”

Her brow lifted. “The 80s!? It’s been running that long?” He nodded. “How much would I have to catch up on? How much further does it go?”

He tilted his head. A smirk played on his lips as he leaned forward. “You liked it that much, just from a few pages?”

The blush returned, pinker this time. It complemented her features well. “W-Well… It poses interesting questions.”

Ryuji tilted his head. “But you only asked me about the relationship so far.” It seemed almost out of character for her to pursue.

Her brow furrowed. He could almost see the gears turning, desperate for a better explanation than she had simply been interested. “But… isn’t her situation much like that of a Change of Heart?”

The blonde straightened up. Seemed a good excuse as any. “You know… I guess I never thought of that.” He laughed once.

She lifted a few lithe fingers to fuss with her hair, combing a bit behind her left ear. “Do you think the mangaka knew about the Metaverse even then?”

Ryuji dropped his head. He reached for more fries. “I don’t think he had that in mind when he made the manga. He’s said in interviews before that he sorta lets the story grow as it wants to.” He grabbed a few fries and dipped them in mayo cup. “That’s why the story has been going on so long. He doesn’t plan it out or anything. There’s plenty of people that complain about some of the characters’ inconsistencies from the first chapter until now, so some people don’t consider the very first chapter canon until the writer explains himself. So I doubt he knows anything.” He shoved his handful of fries in his mouth.

Makoto lifted a hand to her lips. “That could just be an excuse. He could be behind the mental breakdowns. Or-“

Ryuji laughed again. He shook his head and chewed. “You fink-“ He laughed and chewed a bit more.

Makoto frowned over the table to him. He calmed a bit; just a moment ago she had attempted to leave for this reason. He cleared his throat and chewed quietly.

“I’m taking this case very seriously, Sakamoto-kun. Yes, we need to stop Kaneshiro, for personal and impersonal reasons, but we are the only ones with the knowledge and power to stop the true culprit behind the attacks.” She sighed sharply.

Ryuji swallowed his mush and looked around the diner. Other patrons chatted and ate happily. Not one of them knew the weight that a group of teenagers bore. Not one worried for their mental state. Because Makoto had a point.

And here he thought he would have a nice conversation about a manga.

He wiped his hands on his pants. “Okay, senpai. I… It’s not that I ain’t takin’ this seriously, it’s just that… If you read the rest of the manga, you’d know why she was like that. It’s all fairly clearly explained. In gruesome detail.” He grabbed his soda. “You’re welcome to borrow them anytime. I know you’d take care of them.” He chugged the orange beverage out of frustration.

Makoto looked to the manga. “I probably shouldn’t. I have so much studying to catch up on after all these excursions into the Metaverse. Speaking of, would you like to head home?”

He looked to the plate of fries. He had been working on it since he returned, but without her help, he had barely eaten half of it. “Ain’t you hungry, senpai?”

She smiled politely and shook her head. “I have dinner at home. Thank you though.”

His eyes narrowed. She had ordered them. The blonde shrugged. “I’ll finish these up and pay for everything then. You can head home, senpai.” He grabbed another fry and settled in.

Makoto lifted her brow. “Ryuji-san, you already paid for my tea earlier. I know you don’t have that much money to sp-“

He waved a fry at her. “Look, a gentleman pays for his date.”

Her eyes widened, her cheeks reddened, and she tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, revealing red ears. “D-Date, Ryuji-san?”

He felt his jaw tense. They had joked about it all day, why did it bother her now? The bleed effect flickered. He felt his cheeks flare with the heat of embarrassment. He shoved the single fry in his mouth. _Idiot punk_. “C’mon, senpai, I’m just messin’ with ya again. Now head home. You don’t wanna be seen out with a delinquent like me, ya know?”

Her brow furrowed over worried eyes, but he pretended not to recognize the expression. He had seen it several times on his mother’s face. He pulled the menu out to look for prices.

“Ryuji…” Her voice drifted to him, delicate and reserved, but somehow still warm.

He took a slow breath, doing his best to ignore her. His pocket buzzed again. Soda was unlimited, he could go to the bar to get more, and it only cost 160yen?

“Ryuji.” Her voice came a bit harsher this time, demanded his attention.

He took a sip of his soda and discovered the bottom of the glass. He moved to stand from the booth. Makoto stood in his way. “Oh, are you headed home, senpai?” Best to act innocent, it typically deflected his mother’s frustration.

He jumped slightly as she leaned down, her arms wrapped around his neck, and drew him into an awkward hug. He felt the blush spread on his cheeks and darted his eyes around the diner.

“Ryuji, you’re my friend.” Makoto’s muttered directly by his ear. He tried to ignore the sensations in his fingertips, the back of his neck. “I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down like that anymore, okay?”

He looked to the glass in his right hand. He wanted to hug her back, to touch her in any way, but he knew the looks they would garner, the whispers and stares. He simply cleared his throat. “’Course, senpai.”

She squeezed him one last time before she stood. “Good. You’re a good person, Ryuji, regardless of your reputation.”

He couldn’t stop the sardonic chuckle. She narrowed her eyes at him, forced him to look away. They were only friends insofar as she had blackmailed them to include her in their Thievery. Outside of that, she never spoke to him. “Thanks, senpai.”

“Ryuji, I’m serious.” She stood resolute, preventing his escape. Right, Aikido.

The whispers had already started. He could hear the other diner patrons muttering quietly. Probably something about how he had pissed off that sweet looking girl and he deserved whatever shit she was giving him. _Idiot punk_. “Yeah, whatever. I’m thirsty, though, and the drinks are unlimited, so… Mind getting’ outta my way?”

She balked, her head drew back. He knew he went too far, the abusive asshole not properly locked away yet. He cursed himself even as she shifted back to her side of the booth. She muttered out an apology as he bolted from the table. The whispers followed him, louder in his head. _Idiot punk_. He couldn’t put that reputation on her, too.

A few more ice cubes tinkled into the glass before he refilled his glass with melon soda. The favorite flavor of his mother, it should help calm him down. And with any luck, Makoto would’ve gotten the hint and bailed. She didn’t need to be out all night performing legally grey activities with some delinquent. _Idiot punk_. He got her in too much trouble. Shit, he **was** trouble. He took a few chugs of his soda and refilled it again.

He should just pay for the meal and get out whenever he got back to the table. No reason to sit alone at a table and eat fries. _Idiot punk_. He could get home and play video games all night. He had been stuck on a boss for a while, but maybe he could get Mom to let him turn the internet on so he could get help.

He paused. Makoto remained at her seat, gingerly eating a fry, flipping through his manga again. His brow furrowed.

“Hey, senpai, I thought I told you to go home?” He gently placed the soda on the table.

She blushed up to him. A playful smile played on her pink buds. “I… hadn’t finished the manga.”

Frustration bubbled in his gut. “I already offered you to take it with you. And didn’t you say you had some studying to do or somethin’?” More anger in his tone than intended, still struggling with the asshole.

Her brow furrowed again over a pained expression. She nodded once and pushed the manga across the table. The pages flipped on their own to a comfortable position. “My apologies for intruding, Sakamoto-kun. Thank you for paying for everything today.” The bleed darkened and he recognized this emotion. He had hurt her.

She grabbed her bag and stood, prim and proper, and bowed to him. _Idiot punk_. He watched her walk away, down the stairs. As her braided headband disappeared, he cursed himself and sat back down.

His thoughts drifted, going over the day. He had gone wrong in places, but where? How had he hurt her? Of course he hurt her, though. A huge disappointment, an _idiot punk_ , a delinquent with a bad reputation. He got bad grades, had a bad temper that he got from his abusive father, and people thought him weird for his taste in manga and video games. The only friends he had were delinquents like him, people that didn’t belong. He didn’t deserve to be friends with someone like Niijima-senpai.

His phone buzzed. He had been ignoring it all day. Without someone to distract him, he had no reason not to check it.

More group chats; a few direct messages from the other Thieves, including Makoto’s warnings from earlier; something from his track team, an update on Yamauchi’s preferred haunt he hoped; and another direct message from Makoto.

His finger hesitated over her icon. **_About today_** read the subject line. Timestamp a few seconds ago. The seconds counted up into minutes.

He sighed and shoved his phone into his pocket, her message unread. The fries had gotten cold, his drink watered down, and he had to put his manga away.

It lay open to a page with two of the main characters holding a small child, looking for all the world like a family. He growled and slammed the book closed.


	2. Ace Detective

Makoto did her best to ignore the buzzing of her phone on the table beside her manga. She flipped another page and smiled absently at the images. Despite the dark and gory nature of the series, it still held small moments of clarity and kindness. It reminded her of someone.

She sighed and grabbed her phone. Messages from the group, mostly. She deleted a few old threads, all except for the one from a couple weeks ago, after their adventure with the Calling Cards. She felt it, a _something_ during their outing, the fluster of a shoujo heroine when his body loomed over hers, when she pressed him against the wall, when he came out with the shirt too tight, when she had to pretend to be his girlfriend, when they sat together at the diner, when she had to take his hand for any reason. So she deleted threads daily so as to avoid the message she sent to him getting automatically removed.

She hadn’t ever been one for frivolous romantic tripe like other girls, so focused on her studies and performing to the standards set forth by the adults in her life. She had to make her sister proud, live up to the legacy of her father. Being Student Council President came with duties that she had to uphold, with responsibilities she had to the other students and teachers. She had so little time that she allowed for anything that did not advance her worth to those people.

Being with the Phantom Thieves forced her to rethink her priorities. She had the grades, the position, the appearance, everything that gave her prestige and made the adults in her life happy. But she couldn’t tell if it made her happy. She had no hobbies, no friends, and most of the students seemed to dislike her. She wanted those things, for people to like her, befriend her, and share interests.

A sharp, loud noise from the hallway startled her. Someone must’ve dropped a book as they left the library. Distracted from her thoughts, she looked to the time; school would close soon. She started to gather up her things and took one last look at her phone. One thing did make her happy. But would her new friends like it?

She took a slow breath. The school would close to students, but on Monday nights, the gym had been rented out to the local Kendo club. The janitor knew her well and trusted her to use the gymnasium between closing and the club meeting. He would have to clean it again after the club meeting anyway. She did her best to keep it cleaner than she found it as recompense. With her newest extracurricular activities, it might be a good idea to do a bit of training. Her damage output seemed to be lower than the rest of the team’s. While she enjoyed Aikido, she had let her body and skill atrophy in favor of her studies and investigations.

Makoto took one last look at her phone before she placed it in her bag. She kept all her Aikido things in the locker room, but she would need something from the vending machine to hydrate and replenish her electrolytes. The vending machines in the courtyard should provide what she needed.

She smiled to a few students that loitered in the courtyard. They offered disingenuous smiles and packed up their things while she purchased her drink. The machine rattled as her beverage dropped and Makoto heard the students fade away as she recovered the bottle. She gripped the cold bottle tightly. No one liked her. Her jaw clenched, eyes downcast. Aikido would help. A quick glance at the time allowed her to begin planning a regimen of kata to run through before the kendo club arrived.

As she crossed the courtyard to the gymnasium, she heard heavy panting beyond the railing. Students weren’t allowed in the grass after what happened with Suzui, especially with the grounds closing. One deep breath, a bolster to her fortitude, and she moved to the gate that led to the lawn.

She followed the panting around the corner of the practice building. “Excuse me?” Her voice came out stronger than she felt.

A dyed blonde head bobbed between knees covered by large hands. “Hol’ on…” He managed the request through his breaths, an exercise Makoto actually recognized.

Makoto stiffened. Ryuji’s shirt clung to his back, moist with sweat. She swallowed, distracted by the musculature defined by the simple white cloth. Her heart beat faster, those silly, frivolous feelings burbling up again.

He lifted his head and released her from staring. “Oh, it’s you.” No disdain laced his voice, but she heard no affection either. “What are you still doin’ here, Miss President?”

Her grip tightened on the straps of her bag. “I-… I don’t have Student Council meetings on Mondays, but I like to stay in the Student Council room to catch up on work.”

He continued to breathe heavily as she spoke. He nodded absently. “I guess you, uh… came around here to-“ He swallowed, a weak attempt to catch his breath. “To remind me this area is off-limits?”

Her brow furrowed. He never seemed this exhausted in the Metaverse. “Sakamoto-kun, are you all right?”

He laughed once and nodded again. “Yeah, m’okay. I’ll head out in a bit.” He placed a hand on the wall beside him to begin post-workout stretches.

Makoto watched his body bend and stretch, the muscles of his legs and arms work under the skin. She had never noticed it before, not in any of her Aikido classes or spars. Why did this blonde punk bother her so much?

He seemed to favor his right leg, more effort put into the stretch, pain twisted his countenance as he worked it with a small grunt. Her brow furrowed; rumors surrounded the disbandment of the track team, but Ryuji had been suspended after the incident, there’s no way Kamoshida broke his leg. That man had been a vile pervert, not-… He had been abusive, as well. Those rumors rang true. So many awful things happened at her school, right under her nose, and she never knew. What made this one so hard to believe?

“Don’t you have work to catch up on, senpai? I’ll be good, like you said.” His breath finally caught, he turned to her, words amicable but she felt the bitterness behind them.

She looked up to his earthy brown eyes, contrasted sharply by his blonde hair, less unruly after his workout. A smile graced her lips despite herself. “I was actually on my way to do some Aikido training before the Kendo club meets in the gym.”

Ryuji’s brow lifted. “For real? I thought they closed it off after classes for cleaning and shhhhhhtuff.” He winced slightly, aware of his slip of the tongue, conscious to not swear around her.

She chuckled. Leave it to Ryuji to lift her mood by just being himself. “I made a deal with the janitor. I’m one student, the Student Council President, he trusts me to keep it clean and taken care of. Besides, I need the time to think. Running through a few kata helps to clear my head.”

His eyes fell away from hers, to the ground. He turned away to grab his Dr. Salt NEO. Makoto’s brow lifted; she’d have assumed he’d have a soda. “Sorry for keeping you out so late last night, senpai.”

She smiled brightly. “Oh, it was no trouble, Sakamoto-kun. You needed the help with your studies and I’m more than happy to provide.”

He took a swig of his sports drink. “I’ll try not to ask ya too much. I ain’t smart enough to get it all anyway.”

Makoto frowned. She hated hearing the delinquent self-deprecate. He had too many good qualities that he and everyone else ignored because of one mistake. She gripped her own Dr. Salt NEO tighter.

His body bent at the waist to drop his drink in his bag. He straightened up and grabbed the hem of his gym uniform and lifted it to wipe his face. Makoto felt the warmth invade her cheeks as the white cloth covered his face.

Her eyes drifted down to gaze at the definition of his athletic body. Any frivolous thoughts burned away as she took stock of the bruises that peppered his flesh. “Ryuji!” She dropped her Dr. Salt NEO and took a few frantic steps forward.

Brown eyes appeared from behind white cloth at his name shouted in panic. He followed her hands to his abdomen, to the bruises, and whipped his shirt back down to cover them. Red met brown, both determined.

“Ryuji, where did those come from?” Panic and worry welled inside her. He winced at her question.

His eyes tore away to the bottle she dropped. Grass rustled as he shifted around to grab the white, salty beverage. “Don’t worry about it, senpai, it’s nothin’.” He held the bottle out to her.

She shook her head. “Like hell I won’t worry! You’re my friend.”

His brow lifted at her outburst. She shifted her weight to cross her arms. If he wouldn’t tell her, she would have to find out. Preliminary suspects; who would want to hurt him? Probably everyone at the school. Probably even those outside of the school. She had to narrow the suspect pool. Who would he protect? Family, first. She had heard rumors of his home life as well, an abusive father and a mother that did her best. Could the father still be at home? No, she had heard from Akira that Ryuji only had his mother left. So that left friends?

“Was it Ann?” Makoto narrowed her eyes at him.

He shook the bottle at her. “C’mon, senpai, it’s nothin’. I promise. You won’t have much time to do trainin’ if you stick around here.”

Her jaw tensed. She snatched the bottle from him. “I’ll find out who did this to you, Ryuji.” She worked to unscrew the cap. Who else? Ryuji had isolated himself from clubs after last year, though not entirely of his own design. Extra-curricular? They had spent a great deal of time in Mementos recently. “Was it the Shadows?” She chugged a bit. Couldn’t be, why would he cover that up?

He perked up a bit at her question. “Ah, ya got me, senpai. Those Shadows can get… pretty tough. Anyway, I’ma go uh… hit the showers before I head home.”

She knew that tone. A nervous lie. He’s obviously covering for someone. But if it were Ann, he’d probably complain about it, talk about what a bitch she can be, but remind her of their friendship. Makoto didn’t believe she’d ever go that far. It had to be someone else.

He leaned down to grab his bag. Makoto felt an uneasiness settle into her gut. She wanted to help him, to protect him, if she could. But she couldn’t if he didn’t let her, if he hid the truth. She heard about this before from her father, from her sister, from her studies, of the abused that refused to speak out against their abuser. The only real way to convince them to do so, to charge them or testify, would be to convince them of their safety with the police.

She would just have to do that. Make him believe her to be a friend, someone he could be safe with. He shifted around her, headed back to the main building. She grabbed his wrist before he could get too far. “Ryuji!”

He flinched and looked to her hand before he turned around to her. “Yeah?”

Makoto felt the butterflies flit in her stomach. Her hand snapped up to fuss with her uneven bangs, a futile attempt to tuck the longer bits behind her ears. “I… After-…” She pressed her lips together, his eyebrows piqued at her stuttering. “How about I meet you at the shoe lockers after you clean up?”

He turned his head to eye her sidelong. “Why?”

She took a slow breath. Suspicion. “You need some carbs after that workout, right? I’ll come with you. Maybe we could get one last study session in before exams on Wednesday.”

He laughed once, eyes on the ground. He lifted his free hand to his shoulder to rotate the joint. “Nah, I’ve had enough studying for one week. Shit was brutal.” His hands moved together to open his bottle. “Thanks, by the way, for doing your best with me. I know I ain’t smart or easy to teach.” He lifted the beverage to his lips.

Makoto watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. More self-deprecation. Almost as if the boy preferred to believe himself inferior. “You’re welcome. How about I take you to your favorite ramen place then?”

His body lurched, a bit of his beverage spurted around the bottle’s opening. He lowered the bottle quickly, splashed a bit more on the ground, and wiped his face. “For real! It’s all the way in Ogikubo, though!”

Makoto smiled. His demeanor completely changed. She had played the right card. “Of course. If you have the money for the ride, I’ll pay for the meal.”

He grinned and quickly spun the cap back on his drink. “I’ll meet you at the shoe lockers!” He waved and bounded off toward the gymnasium.

Makoto giggled at her kouhai’s enthusiasm. That flutter in her stomach shifted to her chest as she made her way back through the school to the shoe lockers. She sat down on one of the shoe changing benches and watched a few students wander out together. Her smile at Ryuji’s excitement had not diminished when he left. She laughed once at the thought of him so excited, every emotion turned as high as possible on the dyed blonde.

So when he muted those emotions, she noticed. She sensed his frustrations throughout the day, highest after he changed back to his normal clothes at the end of their Calling Card adventure. Anxiety had her playing and replaying the entire afternoon over and over again in her mind in hopes that she might determine the cause. He seemed affable, as if the whole endeavor seemed fun and exciting to him, until she mentioned his grades.

That had to have been the turning point. Any other spat they got into seemed to solve itself, resolved quickly through his compassionate nature or simple apathy. But his grades brought forth the most self-deprecating comments, the anger that he did his best to cover. He had touched her when emotion overcame her and she had hoped it might work the same for him. She remembered earlier in the afternoon he had started any time she touched him, but he quickly relaxed, the table quieted when his leg stopped bouncing, when she touched his hand.

So she hugged him. She wanted him to feel a warm embrace the way she had once. But something about it had angered him further. The train ride home only intensified her worry and anxiety. She hadn’t made it better. And she had texted him before her stop. **_About today_** she entitled it.

She kept her phone on her the rest of the night, worried for her colleague. She hated to see that look in his eye, so far removed from his energy as Skull or even on school grounds as the delinquent Ryuji. Something about him felt wrong, not like Ryuji at all. She checked her phone every few minutes during her studying, through dinner, and would’ve taken the device into the bath with her if she had a waterproof case. Instead, she woke up with the charging cable wrapped around her wrist as the phone buzzed frantically in alarm. And weeks later, he hadn’t replied to it. She made sure to delete as many other threads as she could to ensure that message remained. An ember of hope that he might address her concerns outlined in the message.

That anxiety, that worry, forced a realization within her. She had no idea how to help him. She wanted desperately to do so, but she didn’t know him outside of her investigation. And without his reply, she couldn’t pretend to be anything more than a colleague to him. A partner in Thievery. So she would have to try to find common ground.

Jinbocho had been her first stop. The literary district carried all sorts of books, but she hunted for manga. She ended up directed to the more otaku of districts, such as Akihabara and Nakano Broadway. Akiba upset her, reminded her of things she would rather bury, all bright lights and maid cafes like the red light district of Shinjuku, but Nakano Broadway felt more like a large mall with all manner of interests. But she had to persevere so that she could get closer to the Thieves and potentially the student body.

And so she delved into manga, first seeking out the series he carried with him. She had barely gotten through the first volume when she realized how weak it made her. Darkness, gore, hopelessness, all in terrifying measure. A return trip garnered her different manga, something to lift her spirits and cleanse her mental palate so that she might dive in again. She strove for manga that might enrich her, something intellectual, but she found herself drawn to the shoujo romance, to the cute animal stories, to the detective stories and historical dramas. But she continued to purchase or borrow the next volume of his manga. She had to connect with him. And, despite the content, his manga gave her a lot to think about.

She took a slow breath. The foyer of the school had cleared out a while ago. With no idea how much longer Ryuji might take, she reached into her bag to pull out the alternate manga, the cleansing manga, she had purchased.

“For real?” His voice came from across the foyer, barely noticeable to her if not for the extreme quiet.

She looked to her partner-in-crime and closed the book. As she stood, he shuffled to his locker to switch his shoes out. Makoto crossed the foyer to stand near him. He smelled clean. Something heady. She swallowed the butterflies back to her gut.

He locked his shoe locker and turned to the Student Council President. His brow furrowed for a moment, one arm lifted to rub the back of his head. “So, uh… You were serious, huh?”

Makoto lifted her bag to her shoulder. “Dead serious. So where are we going?”

Brown eyes drifted over her features, his hand dropped from the back of his neck. “Well, there’s this stellar ramen shop in Ogikubo, but the fare is kinda steep and the ramen isn’t exactly cheap so-“

Makoto smiled brightly. “That’s fine. Like I said, you pay for your fare and I’ll pay for your meal.” She turned away and headed for the door.

“H-Hey.” His shoes thumped after her. His larger hand dropped onto her thin shoulder. “Senpai, really, you don’t gotta pay for it. Why would you want to, anyway?”

The butterflies took flight at his touch. She shook her head. “You deserve it, Ryuji. After everything you did for me with Kaneshiro and-“

He shushed her sharply. “C’mon, really? And you guys give me shit about it.”

A flush found her cheeks, her shoulders lifted. “Sorry!” She hissed the apology out, embarrassed. “But seriously, with everything you do for our friends and your dedication to your studies and your training, I think a nice bowl of ramen is the least I can do.”

He scratched at his face, a feeble attempt to hide the blush that darkened his cheeks. “Even if I am just an idiot?”

Makoto frowned. Very little mirth accompanied his self-deprecation. Her hand shifted from her bag to gently hit her knuckles against his chest. “You’re not an idiot, Ryuji.”

He chuckled at her action and nodded. “Okay, all right. Let’s get goin’ then. Man, you’re gonna love this place. You ever been?”

His mood apparently lifted, Makoto calmed. She had done something right, at least. She shook her head and led them from the school. “No. I tend to stay close to home.”

He rushed to hold the door open for her, grin brighter than the setting sun. “Oh man, lemme tell you about this ramen!”

The blonde’s enthusiasm did not wane as he extolled the virtues of his favorite ramen restaurant. He gesticulated wildly on their way to the station. She supplied minimal answers, unfamiliar with the perplexities of ramen, but his excitement dared to overflow. He found her a seat on the train and stood in front of her. She glanced around the train car at the other empty seats, including the space directly beside her, but he remained standing, talking about a show that explained how most ramen is made. Even after his exhaustive training, he provided her a seat. Everyone made him out to be such a punk, but other than his violent outburst at Kamoshida, he seemed to be quite the gentleman.

The train ride eventually passed in relative quiet between them, the other passengers too loud and chatty for the Shujin students to carry on a conversation. As the ride continued, further from their area of Tokyo, the smile faded from his lips and his eyes fell into that dark place. It hurt to see him drift away. Her eyes drifted to his abdomen. Just below the yellow fabric rested bruises that he refused to speak about. She had to make him believe he could trust her.

“Ryuji?” Color returned to his face. She smiled up to him. “You… You’ve read the entirety of that manga, correct?”

His brow furrowed. “Which… manga?” A twinge of recognition flashed over his eyes.

“The one from last time. The uh- Oh.” She reached into her bag, into the pouch she kept the manga in. She pulled out the volume she found herself on. “This one.”

His small eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair. “For real!? You’re actually reading it?” He shook his head. “That shit ain’t for girls though.”

Her eyes narrowed at the blonde. “It’s not for the faint-hearted, which could be either gender. I’ve had a hard time getting through it myself. I’ve been coupling it with studies or other… lighter manga just to get through it.” She pushed the volume back into her bag.

He rubbed the back of his neck and rocked with the rhythm of the train. “Even a badass chick like you, huh?” He nodded, more to himself.

Warmth kissed her cheeks. One hand flew to tuck a bit of hair behind her ear and fuss with the rest. Her eyebrows lifted. “Did you have a hard time getting through it as well?”

He shrugged. “It’s pretty intimidating stuff, ya know?” His way of confirming.

If it bothered him so much… “Then why read it?”

His eyes dropped to her, his gaze intense. “Why do you read it?”

Her jaw clenched. She read it to be closer to him. But admit that? To him? “The… character arcs and dynamics are fascinating.”

He chuckled. The intensity vanished. “I could see you identifyin’ with the main girl, yeah. She’s pretty badass. I bet you could take on plenty of Phantom Thief Requests on your own.”

Makoto stiffened. “Ryuji!”

He winced, aware of his slip-up. Her eyes darted up and down the car. No one stood out. She heaved a small sigh of relief.

She looked back to her companion. His cheeks had flushed, his brow furrowed, embarrassment tight in his athletic build. She reached a hand out for his. He had already stuffed them in his pockets, so she settled for resting her hand on his lower arm. He glanced to the contact and looked her in the eyes.

She smiled up to him. “Do you identify with the main character?” Get his mind back on track, away from the shame.

The flush faded. He looked pensive for a moment. “Eh, maybe. Guy’s been through Hell and back and he keeps fightin’. I kinda understand that. I don’t remember when that one kid shows up, but I feel like people would say I’m him more than the main character.”

Makoto smiled for a moment. At least he had revealed a bit of himself. But if he identified with the main character, a greater darkness hid within her excitable partner than she realized. “I think I know who you’re talking about. I thought you might say the fairy.”

Ryuji’s face scrunched tightly. “The fairy! For real?” His head dropped.

She giggled at his display. He rubbed the back of his neck again, a slight pink to his ears. Butterflies fluttered under her shirt. “In his defense, he plays a very important role in the story.”

The runner rolled his eyes. “Yeah, comic relief.”

The Honor student held up a finger. “He serves as a foil, at first, a moral compass for the protagonist to make sure he never loses himself. He is very important in that regard.” Her hand opened, a gesture of secession. “And he tries to become a teacher to the boy, as well. He’s very supportive of the others, even if he seems quite selfish and… idiotic.” His eyes darted to the side. “And certainly, he is meant as a comic relief, but isn’t that important in such a dark manga?”

His brow remained tight, unconvinced. “I guess, but he’s still useless. He can’t fight, can’t actually heal, can’t keep the specters and shit away. The only thing he offered was finding a way to heal the… catatonic girl, but even then he can’t remember how to get there.”

Makoto blinked. “He what?”

Rich brown eyes returned to her. “What? Have you not gotten that far?”

She looked to her bag. “I suppose not.”

His cheek clicked. “Ah, shit. Sorry.”

She looked back up to him. “Sorry?”

He scratched at his hair. “I hate when people spoil stuff.”

Makoto smiled up to him. Considerate. “Oh, it’s fine. Sometimes spoilers fuel me to catch up.”

One skeptical brow raised. “I guess that make sense. But if I already know what’s gonna happen, I don’t see a reason to read, ya know?”

Makoto shrugged. “Certainly. I can understand that.”

He raised a hand to hold onto the hoops that hung from the ceiling. “Still can’t believe you read manga.” Despite his words, he appraised her with a warm smile. She had done something else right, it seemed.

“Ogikubo. Upcoming station is Ogikubo.” An announcement broke the teenagers’ conversation.

Ryuji brightened immediately. He held a hand out to her. “Hell yeah! C’mon, Makoto! Let’s head to the doors!”

Her heart skipped a beat. Rarely had he called her by name, without honorifics, for any reason. Neither teen had a healthy relationship with physical contact, either starved of it or abused by it. She understood the importance of his offer, the significance the contact held for either of them. Her automatic, polite response should’ve been no, but instead, she swallowed and shifted her bag before she took his hand.

He pulled her up easily; she underestimated either his strength or her weight. She staggered a bit, her other hand weighted by her bag unable to catch herself. She fell into his chest, his other arm moved to her shoulder to catch her. Heat rose on her cheeks, eyes shifted to his face through eyelashes. He merely grinned out an apology and tugged her toward the exit doors.

He braced them both as the train came to a stop, her hand still clutched in his. He practically vibrated with excitement. He remained considerate of the other commuters when the train stopped even as he dragged the Student Council President through the station. Makoto enjoyed the warmth, the way their hands fit together, the tug at her shoulder and elbow as he pulled her with him. His excitement spread to her, a spark that followed the conduit of their connection.

That spark pulsed as he waited impatiently on the other side of the station’s gates, his hand still wrapped around hers while she found her pass card to swipe through. Once through, he jogged a bit too fast for her to keep up. Excitement and familiarity guided him through the streets. She did her best not to fall behind, but the ex-track star had a longer gait and much more speed and stamina than he gave himself credit for.

“Ryuji!” She panted. Desperation laced her call.

He looked back to her and slowed to a halt. “Oh, geez. Sorry, senpai.” His free hand moved for her shoulder again, but stopped just short.

Makoto smiled and bowed her head. “It’s all right.” She huffed, eyes on his hand still around hers. The spark of warmth had not left her. “I must admit, I’m not used to this level of enthusiasm.”

His eyes scrunched up, but he showed no pearly whites. Almost a grin, but something held him back. It looked wrong. “I’ll try to tone it down, then.” His countenance relaxed, his eyes dipped to the concrete. She recognized those eyes.

Her heart jumped. “No!” And then he jumped. She swallowed. “Honestly? It’s refreshing, actually.” His brow furrowed. She looked away.

The buzz of electricity left her arm. She looked to her hand to find Ryuji thrust his hand into his pocket. He turned away, toward the direction he had been dragging her. “That’s one way of puttin’ it.” He took a few steps forward. “Come on, it’s not too much farther.”

She looked to her hand, still warm from his touch, but lonelier without the buzz of static. She enjoyed the contact, the buzz, the warmth. Part of her wanted to confront him about it, to seek his hand out again, anything, but the blurred image of his feet moved away. Her focus lifted to her companion. More self-deprecation. Did he truly hate himself that much? She watched his jaw tense in profile when she caught up to him, his steps increasingly forceful. Whatever thoughts brewed under his dyed fuzz held no positivity.

Normal, socially-adjusted people would find a way to distract him, to pull him from his sinister brew of dark thoughts. A friend might even know what to say to comfort him. But she could not claim either of those properties, reminded of which every time she deleted text threads on her phone. But no progress would be made without at least an effort. She had to better herself in more ways than academics. She still had to get to the bottom of his bruises and she still had to ingratiate herself to him. They worked together in the Metaverse, they had to have a trusting relationship if they were to succeed. What could she do or say to help him?

They had bonded over manga, perhaps she could-

Ryuji cut in front of her and slid a door open. He looked to her, small brows furrowed, the brew still bubbling in his head. “Here we are.”

Missed her chance. Makoto looked around just the same. Directly across the quiet street stood a small hotel, a Family Mart down the road, and an Indian restaurant nearby. Indian? Ryuji gestured to the door again. Makoto smiled and moved as instructed.

After the compulsory “Irasshaimase!”, the smell hit her, a heady broth smell that filled the tiny restaurant. Ryuji dropped his bag under the bar, grabbed a pair of small glasses from the counter, and headed to the water cooler that stood at the back.

“Ah! Ryuji-chan!” An older woman behind the bar called to him, her eyes wrinkled despite the sour look to her features. “I was wondering when you’d be by.”

Ryuji nodded toward the woman as he watched water trickle into one of the glasses. “Hey, Obaa-san. Sorry about that. Two, by the way.”

The woman laughed once. “Are you that hungry today, Ryuji-chan?”

One glass filled, he slid it on the counter beside him. “We’ll see, but the other one is for my friend.”

Obaa-san’s eyes flicked to the door. Makoto stood by Ryuji’s bag, the strap of her bag clutched in both hands. She felt almost like an outsider, afraid to interrupt the pair in their familiar exchange. A feeling all too familiar to her. Sae and her father had introduced her to plenty of strangers as a child, typically only when they had been unable to find a babysitter but still had work.

The older woman’s eyes leveled on her, narrowed with scrutiny. Makoto felt her shoulders lift with the corners of her lips. The chef’s eyes darted all over the teen’s face; she appraised her hair, checked her halter vest, and nodded at her skirt. Makoto expected a Sherlockian diatribe to start once the woman looked away.

Instead, Ryuji returned with two small glasses of water. “Pick a stool, senpai.”

Makoto furrowed her brow. He seemed angry. They both did. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea…”

“ **You** invited _me_ , senpai!” His shouting did not startle her, used to his excitement in the Metaverse by now.

But the chef looked his direction. “Ryuji.”

His jaw clenched. “Sorry. Just… siddown, will ya?”

Makoto chose the seat to his right and slid her bag off her shoulder. He slid one of the glasses to her and settled into the stool beside her.

The chef smiled at the pair, a smile that did little to the wrinkles around her eyes. “So, she’s your senpai?”

Makoto stiffened. “Oh! Where are my manners?” She smiled and stood from her stool to execute a courteous bow. “My name is Makoto Niijima. It’s nice to meet you.”

The woman smirked and bowed her head as Makoto smoothed her skirt down in the back and slipped back onto the stool. “Nice to meet you, Makoto Niijima.”

Ryuji sipped his water absently.

The chef returned to her cooking; a pan of dumplings sizzled to her right, two pots of water boiled strainers full of noodles as she built the broth in two differently patterned bowls. Makoto’s gaze shifted to the mismatched glasses before her and Ryuji. Something about it felt cozy.

Except for Ryuji, who glared at his glass between sips. It still felt like a mistake to her, a desperate ploy by a detective to engender themselves with a victim in hope of garnering more of the truth. That had been her original intention, but the longer his change in attitude persisted, the more she realized how wrong she had been. She wanted to make a friend out of the former track star, not just investigate his bruises or gain a better partnership for their work in the Metaverse. She wanted to bond with him over manga and hear his opinions, to find out how he knew the chef of this restaurant, how he had discovered it in the first place.

“Why _did_ you invite me, Makoto?” Ryuji kept his eyes on his glass, but his head turned slightly toward her.

Makoto’s back straightened, head tilted down. Why, indeed. She lifted her hands to set them on the counter. “I told you, Ryuji.”

He shook his head and gripped the small glass. “Yeah, I guess you did.” He took a swig of the water. “Probably just trying to keep me controlled so I don’t blow our cover. Remind me I gotta be a Good Boy,” his hands and head wiggled in a mocking manner, “from now on.” He took another swig, emptying his glass. “It’s okay, Makoto, I won’t eff it up for everyone.”

Makoto flaccidly pawed at her sweating glass, eyes on his back as he made his way past the other patrons. Her brow lowered as he returned to the water jug in the back. She made a mistake. She lied to herself about her intentions, led him to this restaurant under false pretenses. He didn’t believe her and he shouldn’t. She should’ve just respected their difference in station and personality, maintained a professional Phantom Thief relationship, and scolded him for being at school after hours like she would’ve with any other student.

But he had already ordered for two, the chef toiled at her pots building the two bowls of ramen, and Makoto still had to eat something for dinner. Keep quiet, be respectful, and head home whenever she finished her meal.

She stiffened as Ryuji returned. He slid the glass onto the counter as he climbed back onto his stool, one leg bouncing once he settled in. Makoto glanced to him, the butterflies ill as they swirled in her gut.

“Ryuji-“ She started.

“Here ya go, Ryuji-chan, Makoto-san. Be careful, it’s still hot.” The chef handed one bowl over the counter to Ryuji.

“Oh hell yeah! Thanks Obaa-san!” He reached to his, grabbed the edges carefully, and guided it to the counter before him.

Before Makoto could reach for hers, Ryuji’s arms shot in front of her. The chef smirked slightly. “Oh, and don’t worry about paying, Ryuji. You missed your birthday bowl last week, so I’ll just make it this week, ne?”

Makoto’s eyes widened, her head jerked to the blonde. “Birthday!?”

Ryuji’s tiny brow lowered. “Yeah?” The ramen bowl set before her, he grabbed two pairs of chopsticks from a nearby dispenser. “Guess that makes it easier for you to pay, huh?”

Makoto didn’t notice the chopsticks he held out for her. He shrugged and set them on the counter next to her before breaking his. Birthday. She had seen it a few times in his student records months ago when Principal Kobayakawa gave her access. Days before his birthday he had helped with Kaneshiro’s takedown, had helped her with the Calling Cards. He never once mentioned it to her. Had he mentioned it to the others?

“Itadakimasu!” Ryuji grinned and stirred his ramen with his chopsticks. “Oh man, I’m so hype!” He grabbed a bundle of noodles. “Come on, senpai, dig in! You won’t be disappointed.”

Makoto pursed her lips. Even at a time like this. “Did you have a good birthday, Ryuji-san?”

He looked to her, noodles cascading from his mouth like tentacles. “My birf’ay?”

Makoto felt the mirth override whatever negative emotions she had at the sight. His cheeks darkened when she started to giggle. He returned to his slurping while she grabbed her chopsticks. She allowed a quiet “Itadakimasu” before stirring her bowl as well.

He swallowed and poked at the cuts of pork that floated on the broth. “My birthday was fine, senpai.”

She smiled to him. “Only fine?”

He nodded and collected the pork. “Mom and I had a good time just sorta relaxin’ for the night. It’s one of the few days she actually asks offa work so she can spend time with me. Made me a cake and everything.”

Makoto furrowed her brow and collected a bundle of noodles. “You didn’t have a party with friends?” It hurt to exclude herself from that category, but she knew better.

He shrugged and collected more noodles. “Nah, I never do. I tried before but…” He pulled the noodles out. “Never worked too well, so I stopped. Don’t like the quiet, but I put up with it for Mom, ya know?”

Makoto looked to the noodles. “Not really.” She had to remember he didn’t consider her a friend, she didn’t need to tell him these things, but she wanted to know him and have him know her. She slipped the noodles into her mouth before she could say much else.

She instantly reveled in the taste. She couldn’t wax poetic about ramen like Ryuji could, and had on the way, but she understood it. Noodles cooked perfectly in slightly seasoned water, beautifully simmered broth, the right amount of extra flavors. She slurped her noodles hungrily.

Ryuji grinned beside her. “I know, right? Best ramen in the world, right here.” He dug back into his own bowl.

The rest of the meal passed in slurps and hums of delight. Ryuji ordered a second bowl, which the chef chided that he would have to pay for. He gobbled it up just the same. By the time they each finished their meal, their respective moods had brightened, their animosity forgotten. Makoto once again thanked her Persona that Ryuji had let his disdain go, that he hadn’t pressed her about the comment.

Instead, both teens began to chat amicably about their manga tastes. Ryuji did his best to keep up with Makoto’s complex detective stories while she did her best to understand and engage with his sports and shounen. He laughed at her enjoyment of the kawaii category manga, but commended her for her variety. He almost seemed interested in a few, which brought a blush and a smile to the Council President. The only thing they could both speak deeply on seemed to be the one he carried with him. Though he still had a hard time understanding the themes and philosophy behind it – assisted only through internet breakdowns from the long years of the manga’s existence – he still had the best grasp on it than anything else.

“Ryuji-chan.” The chef retrieved their bowls from the raised section of the counter. “It’s getting pretty late.”

Both students looked to the clock.

“Ah, shit.” Ryuji shook his head. “Mom’s gonna be worried if I get home too late.”

Makoto smiled slightly. Sae probably wouldn’t get home anytime soon, still up working on her investigation into the Phantom Thieves. “How much, ma’am?”

The chef looked to Ryuji. “Two bowls is ¥1200.”

Ryuji nodded absently as he reached for his wallet. Makoto already had her coin purse out, however, and fished out the appropriate change. “Here you are, ma’am. It was very delicious. Thank you very much.”

The chef took her coins, though she shot an amused scoff to Ryuji. “At least walk her home, Ryuji-chan.”

Ryuji reached down to grab his bag and Makoto’s from under the counter. “Yeah, yeah. Mom would be pissed if I didn’t, even if she didn’t pay.”

The chef waved. “Have a good night, you two.”

Makoto waved in return. She turned to place her coin purse back in her bag, but found Ryuji carrying bags out the sliding door instead. “Ryuji!”

He paused outside the door. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Her brow furrowed as she grabbed for her bag. “I am more than capable of carrying my bag, Ryuji.” He held it out to her with a shrug. She took the opportunity to return her coin purse.

He chuckled a bit. “Heh, cute coin purse. Couple’a minutes ago I wouldn’t take you for the type, but…”

She took her bag and slipped it onto her shoulder. “You know better now.” She spoke the words with a smile, but something the chef said stuck in her mind. “Your mother wouldn’t…”

Ryuji tilted his head and moved forward down the street. “What’s up?”

Makoto’s furrow deepened. She had to know, to solve the case, to help him. “She wouldn’t cause those bruises-“

The blonde spun on her so fast, Makoto almost bumped into him. She looked up to eyes filled with fury, speckled with gold. “My mother would never hurt me, Niijima-san. And fuck you for even thinking it.”

He laced his voice with a subtle threat, an anger that seemed far more dangerous and genuine than anything she had ever seen before. Terror filled her for the split second until he turned around and stormed away. She didn’t know much about his particular set of perplexities, but she knew he rarely said the work “fuck” aloud. It must’ve meant a great deal to him for him to react so openly.

She hurried after him, barely able to keep up with his long, angry stride. His anger seemed disproportionate for a worried inquiry. Makoto only wanted to help, to find out who had caused the bruises so that she might be able to prevent further in the future. But he did his best, which wasn’t great, to obfuscate or deflect. Don’t worry, he said. It’s just shadows, he said. If he wanted to cover it up so badly, perhaps it had been someone close to him, someone who had done it before. Like someone at home. And when the chef and Ryuji commented on his mother’s anger at her paying, she made the connection. He came from an abusive household.

Makoto closed her eyes briefly as she struggled to keep up; his father had been the abusive one, which more than likely meant his mother his mother took the brunt of it in Ryuji’s younger years. Both mother and son were abuse survivors.

And Makoto accused her of being just like his father.

“Ryuji?” He barely acknowledged her when she moved beside him. “Ryuji-kun, I’m sorry.”

He waved a hand in angry dismissal. “I can handle people messin’ with me. I deserve it. But she don’t need any of it. She’s been nothin’ but a goddess, puttin’ up with my shitty Dad and then the shit I end up in. I don’t let anyone say shit about her.” He glanced to her, the gold in his eyes brighter than before. “Not from anyone.”

The gold confused and worried her, but she had a more immediate problem. She filed the information away for later. “Of course, Ryuji, and you shouldn’t. I’m just still worried about-“

He growled and stuffed his hands into his pockets so his shoulders lifted to shroud his angry face. “Yeah, whatever.”

Makoto had performed another misstep. She had a long way to go to be a better detective. Though, she considered Ryuji a friend, which more than accounted for her constant failures. She would have to recuse herself from the case if it had come to her in a professional capacity.

She did her best to exude contrition toward the former track star. It did little to return the amicable atmosphere, to reduce his anger. Only after he swiped his train pass and led her onto the platform did he seem calmer, his anger diminished, though still present. They entered the trains in silence, he found her a seat and stood before her, just as he had on the way there. A Good Boy, she realized, just like he said. A Good Boy that believed he deserved the abuse.

The bruises lay there, under his shirt, a reminder of his self-hatred and imagined responsibility. However he had gotten them, he wanted them, she decided. He might never tell her the truth, though she had to at least consider the possibility that he already had. She couldn’t watch him every second of every fight. The chance that he had gotten hurt by Shadows had definite merit.

She pulled her phone out of her bag. Several more threads popped up on her messaging app, thankfully not enough to remove the one she sent Ryuji last week. She took a slow breath and checked the others.

“It was the track team.” His voice drifted over her toward the windows.

Makoto looked up to him. Earthy brown eyes shifted around to her right – the truth, then. “The track team?”

He looked to the right, hands thrust into his pockets, the bad posture returned. “Yeah.” He forced the word out in frustration.

Her hands rested on her bag. No more missteps. “What did they-“

One hand lifted from his pocket to touch his abdomen. “I know you’re just gonna keep askin’, so I’m tellin’ ya; the track team caused the bruises. Mom had nothin’ to do with it.”

Makoto’s eyes shifted from his profile to his abdomen. She wanted to appreciate his honesty. Though, the way he phrased it felt as though he preferred not to, but her tenacity meant he had to. Be careful. “Why would they-“

His hand went back into his pocket. “Because I told ‘em they could, okay? Just leave it.”

Makoto shifted her gaze back to his profile. “You told them they could?”

His eyes rolled. “Effin’ leave it, senpai.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ryuji, why did you tell them-“

He growled. His hands shot out of his pockets, thrown into the air. “Because I deserve it, don’t I!?”

Makoto’s eyes shot around the train car. Only a few people cared enough to look up from their phones, find the source of the shout, and return to their phones.

Makoto glanced down to her own phone, her bag. He believed it, that he deserved all the bad things that happened to him. Nothing she said or did could dissuade him. She gripped her phone tightly. “Thank you for telling me, Ryuji.” She wanted very strongly to dissuade him.

He shook his head and looked to the windows again. His leg started bounce, his small brow lowered over frustrated eyes.

Defense of his mother had been the only catalyst for his truth. Makoto had coerced his confession through duress. Threaten something the suspect cares about and they’ll talk. She looked back to her phone again.

Every thread she opened she didn’t read, only forced them to be marked as read. She scrolled back down to the message thread with Ryuji. **_About today._** She should just delete it.

“Ain’t this your stop, senpai?” Ryuji’s voice sounded a touch softer, but still unhappy, one wrong word away from lashing out again.

Makoto looked around. “Ah, yes.” She stood on her own. “Thank you.” And headed for the doors.

She grabbed onto the pole by the door and scrolled through her phone aimlessly. Whenever she got home, she had more studying to catch up on for her exams the next week. Perhaps she should grab something from a convenience store on the way home.

A hand wrapped around the pole above hers. A large, masculine hand with a bracelet on the wrist. Makoto followed the arm to the former track star. His expression remained dark, angry, but determined. He promised the chef he would walk her home. On thinking over their exchange, he had intended to walk her home regardless of being told.

A blush crept onto her cheeks as he moved slightly closer. She could smell the ramen shop on him, along with the soaps from school. “What are you doing?”

His small brow furrowed for a moment. The anger seemed to have left his eyes, replaced by confusion. “Walkin’ you home?”

Despite his reputation, Ryuji Sakamoto had a good heart. Despite everything wrong she had done, he still intended to care for her. The butterflies flitted again, frivolous thoughts swirled through her mind, and she noticed their difference in height. His defined jaw could easily rest on top of her head. 

She hadn’t noticed his height before. “It’s… really unnecessary, Ryuji. You said your mother would worry about you getting home late, right? I can walk myself from here.”

He sighed slightly. “Mom would be more upset if I didn’t walk you to your door, at least. Dad-“ His jaw clamped shut right as the word left his mouth. Makoto watched his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

Every mention of his father pinched a nerve, she noticed. Last week when they spread the Calling Card, he had gotten upset then as well. Even the accusation that his mother might be like his father. She lifted a hand. “It’s truly all right, Sakamoto-kun. I know Aikido. I can handle myself if there’s any trouble.”

He chuckled at that. “You’re one badass chick, you know that?” He shrugged. “S’fine, senpai.”

Her hackles raised. Did he honestly think to mock her, after everything they had been through? Did he truly think her so useless and incapable? “Sakamoto-kun, I appreciate whatever misguided chivalry dictates your need to take care of me and not disappoint your mother, but I don’t need your help getting home.”

Hurt crossed his features for a moment, replaced quickly a new set of anger and frustration. “Misgui- The eff is chivalry?” He sighed heavily. “So that’s how it’s gonna be? I’m just tryin’ to be nice but you get to control everything about me in and out of the Metaverse?” She glanced around, but he clicked his cheeks. “Man, eff this. Whatever. Get home on your own.”

Makoto watched Ryuji slither back through the crowd. She immediately felt colder and more vulnerable without him close by. The train announcements started up. Any regret she felt died in the din of the train car.

Messed it up again. She really had the magic touch.

As the train stopped, she watched a few commuters rise from their benches to head for the doors. Ryuji’s blonde hair dropped out of view for a moment as he flopped into a seat, shoulders against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Makoto frowned as the crowd moved her out onto the platform.

She inhaled slowly as the train trundled down the tracks without her. She clutched her phone tightly, the creak of skin against plastic echoed in her ears. She had to say something. Maybe tomorrow? Let him stew for tonight. A good night’s rest might do him some good. He might be more willing to accept her apology. She returned her phone to her bag and headed for the exit.

The others knew him best, having spent time with him long before she ever did. They might have some insight. After she passed through the station’s gates, she retrieved her phone and started up a new thread to everyone but Ryuji.

**_Birthday boy?_ **

She gleaned through the conversation as she walked home that no one else knew about his birthday. Ann forgot and the other two simply didn’t know. Morgana forced Akira to mention that he didn’t care when the monkey boy’s birthday was. Makoto pursed her lips, unsure if the cat had a simple amicable rivalry or something against the blonde.

She scrolled back down to the thread she started last week. She scrolled to the bottom, up a bit, down again until it would scroll no further.

Gone. The thread disappeared.

Kaneshiro and his thugs must’ve sent her more threads than she realized. She hadn’t deleted enough, which meant when she created the new one, the oldest thread got deleted.

“Shit.” She muttered the expletive quietly to her phone before throwing it soundly against the couch.

When she managed to pull herself out of the bath, she noticed a light blinking on her phone. Probably just Sae letting her know she’d be at work all night.

**_About today_ **

**Makoto** : _I wanted to apologize for upsetting you, Ryuji-kun.  
_**Makoto** : _We all know what it’s like to live with the burden of expectation.  
_**Makoto** : _It’s where our Personas come from, a rebellion against that expectation, right?  
_**Makoto** : _I didn’t mean to imply that you’re stupid or undeserving or a burden on the group.  
_**Makoto** : _You are one of the strongest members, in fact, with a passion and enthusiasm  
_**Makoto** : _I’m not sure I could ever find within myself or the others.  
_**Makoto** : _There’s a lot of good in you, as well.  
_**Makoto** : _So don’t let anything I said make you feel poorly.  
_**Makoto** : _You are better than you know._

Makoto furrowed her brow in confusion at the sequence of texts that made up her apology to Ryuji last week. It had been lost in the shuffle moments ago. And yet.

She remembered how she agonized over every line, unsure of when to stop herself or if the words she chose had enough meaning and impact. Every step closer to home felt like a mistake, every step that took her further away from him. But she wanted to respect his frustration, his desire to be alone.

She also remembered how she agonized every hour he hadn’t replied until she fell asleep. She remembered how she woke up the next morning, arm tangled in the charging cable because she fell asleep holding her phone. How she had done her best to keep that one thread despite all the texts from Kaneshiro, teachers, Student Council members, and the Thieves group. All waiting for at least one reply from her pirate.

 **Ryuji** : _yo, senpai  
_**Ryuji** : _thanks._

Makoto beamed at the text as heat rose in her cheeks.


End file.
